Madame Mai
by khuffie
Summary: Valentine Catering Co. is a hit in the San Francisco Bay Area. Miss Valentine runs her catering service by day and a BDSM dungeon by night. But whether acting as businesswoman or dominatrix, Mai has a irreconcilable streak of independence. M for later.


A summer morning in San Francisco. Summer, only according to the calendar, which showed the month to be June. San Francisco's weather, like all it's mythical elements, refused to follow any of the rules. Indeed, for most of the year it experienced a sort of perpetual Spring, and if summer ever made an appearance, it would not do so until what was, for the rest of the county, late autumn. This morning in June the clock showed a time of 7:05. If the sun had risen over the city no one had seen it yet, for the tule fog which rolled in from the San Francisco bay blanketed the peninsula in thick whiteness.

Mai Valentine took one deep breath of the misty air and smiled inwardly. Damn, she had missed this city, i her /i city, while she had been off on her dueling escapades. The woman slammed her car door and walked briskly into the Radisson Convention Center. She took the elevator several floors up and stepped out into her domain.

Smartly dressed employees scurried around, carrying trays of food, boxes of utensils and decorations, and clipboards of checklists and directives. Mai nodded satisfactorily. Preparations seemed to be progressing well. Suddenly a young man in a navy uniform ran up to her with a cell phone and an anguished look on his face. Apparently not so well.

"Miss Valentine!" the man exclaimed. His Valentine Catering Co. name tag identified him as "Danny K., Assistant Manager."

"What is it, Danny?" Mai asked.

"I'm on the phone with the chef! We don't have the shrimp pilaf!"

"What? Give me that!" Mai grabbed the cell phone and addressed the chef at the other end. "Talk to me Markus," she snapped.

"Ah! Good morning Miss V!" came a cheerful voice from the other end.

Mai rolled her eyes. "What's the problem with the pilaf?"

"Well, you remember that wicked storm off the bay last night? It apparently interfered with our shipment of fresh jumbos. I've been waiting for it all morning," Markus' voice suddenly held something like resigned sorrow, as if the absence of his shrimp was a personal tragedy that he was doing his best to cope with.

Mai whirled away and strode down the hall with the phone. "Do I control the weather Markus?" she snapped.

"That's unlikely Miss Valentine, as the weather here is generally agreeable," the voice teased.

Mai laughed once at that. Markus was her head chef and oldest employee, and the only one who could get away with such joking. "Well then, I suggest you find a way to compensate for the storm," she ordered.

"Ah ha! Therein lies the problem. The respectable seafood markets our in the same boat we are. And even if I could get some today, the shrimp has to be marinated for several hours," the chef replied.

"Damn," Mai cursed. "I'll make some phone calls. In the mean time whip something else up. Just in case." The blonde woman snapped the phone shut and threw it to Danny, who hurried out of sight. She then whipped out her own cell and pressed a number on speed dial.

"Yabbie's Coastal Kitchen, how can I help you?" another cheerful voice greeted her.

"Monsignor Jacques please," Mai requested.

"The chef?" the voice asked stupidly.

"No, the one who cleans the bathrooms," Mai snapped sarcastically.

A disgruntled "humph" was followed by the beep which transferred her call to the kitchen. She paced the hall of the Radisson while the she waited and listened to the successive rings.

"'Ello? Kitchen." A voice finally answered.

"Jacques, this is Mai. I need a favor."

"Indeed, what kind?" the heavily accented French chef asked.

"Sassafras shrimp pilaf. ASAP."

"Eh.. seems that kind of thing is in high demand this morning," a chuckle greeted her ear.

Mai scowled, "Stop playing, I'm in a rush. Can you do it?"

"I shall see what I have got laying around here. For the beautiful Madame Mai I just may find something."

"Thanks Jacques. I owe you one."

"No, no. I owed you for the Okra platter, did I not?" the chef reminded.

"You're right. Thanks again Jack." Mai closed her phone and ventured into the conference room where her employees were busily setting up tables and appetizers.

Everything seemed to be in order. She gazed with a proprietor's pride at the organized chaos which always preceded a successful catering job. She'd built this company from the ground up in less than two years. Every moment had been an adventure. Mai Valentine had been an extremely independent individual since the day she was born, always looking out for herself and no one else. But with her business, Valentine Catering, she was suddenly responsible for an establishment, a company, and a myriad of employees. Honestly, she loved it. And she'd proven herself a pretty damn capable entrepreneur, having her company on the top-ten list of the best catering services in the bay area.

Mai's inspection of the proceedings was interrupted by Danny, once again running up with a distressed look. "Miss Valentine! Chase just called.. he's got strep throat and cant's come in!"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Gods! You'll just have to find a way to cover for him. Come on, you are all above average. ..Allegedly."

Mai nodded curtly and walked to the window. She looked out over the foggy bay and hid a smirk. The truth was she new exactly why Chase wasn't coming to work, and it wasn't because he had strep. But that wasn't a big problem at the moment.

Gazing at the impenetrable white fog below she had a strange feeling. It was that feeling that you could get often in San Francisco.. the sense that something wild and decidedly coincidental was about to happen. It had been said of the city that, "San Francisco was 49 square miles surrounded by reality," and more often than not it proved true. Perhaps as a native San Franciscan her view was biased, but Mai had traveled the world and never found a place as surreal as her city.

The woman frowned curiously and tossed her blonde hair to one side, then regained her business-woman composure and made her way back through the scurrying workers. She followed her instincts down the hall and into the lobby.

* * *

Righto! It's been a looong time since I wrote any fanfiction. . Let me know what you think, and I may be motivated to continue. .

khuffie


End file.
